


The Code of Me

by rumblestrip (ballpoint)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 22:32:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9463154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballpoint/pseuds/rumblestrip
Summary: At a sponsor’s show, Lewis Hamilton realises his complicated feelings about Nico Rosberg and their friendship since the latter’s retirement.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lost_decade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/gifts).



**27th Salon International de la Haute Horlogerie (SIHH) IWC Schaffhausen Gala. Geneva, Switzerland**

“A cheese watch? A watch made of cheese?” Adriana laughed, her green eyes flashing. 

“Yeah, didn’t you see it? H. Moser, I think.”

“ _Dios_ , that is a story, Lewis. I don’t know if I should believe you.”

Ever professional, even while socialising, she propped her elbow on the table showing off the new watch in their sponsor’s line, from their 2017 Da Vinci Collection: The Code of Beauty. 

The watch she had been gifted as stunning as its recipient: 18k rose gold case and links, the bezel sleeker and more refined, the smaller case diameter making it polished and even more lovely. 

Adriana’s styling simple, a dusky pink sheath on _that_ Victoria Secret’s body, tawny skin soft and dewy be it from good lifestyle habits or a high end moisturising spa treatment. 

“Speaking of stories, I am enjoying the process of - _filming_ ,” she continued, her teeth white against the plush velvet red of her lipstick. 

“ _Oceans Eight_ , right?”

“Right!” 

“I remember you saying,” Lewis continued, steepling his fingers against his lips, taking in their surroundings. Their part of Pal expo kitted out in the air of a posh restaurant. White linen tables, the muted gleam of crockery and cutlery coming from lights on the tables made to mimic candles in their lovely, soft red gold light, set to match the tones of their _haute horlogerie_ offerings in rose gold. “It must be brilliant.”

“Except for learning the lines!”

“You’ve done _Maybelline_.”

“Lewis!” Adriana laughed, scandalised. In her accent, the rebuke in his name became a soft, _Lou- essh_ “It’s not the same!” she playfully swatted his forearm. “It’s... _more_.”

“I know, just joking.”

“What about you?” she asked, the tips of her fingers lightly rubbing against his forearm in apology. “And your music?”

“It goes, you know?” Lewis answered, nodding his thanks and acknowledgement of the waiter as he served drinks and _hors d’oeuvres_ at their places before gliding away, his movements as unobtrusive as air. 

“Sometimes, I want to just... unleash everything I have stored up,” he started, using his pointer finger to trace along the edge of the plate, still warm so that their _hors d’oeuvres_ were edible for longer. 

“But?” 

“Not yet,” Lewis’ laughter trailed off as he looked at their mini dishes. 

Soft white cheese slices, contrasted with the warm coral colour of figs, on toasted slices of blini and served with delicate green water spinach presented on each side of the blini like a wreath. 

It looked -

“Delicious, no?” Adriana supplied, as she broke off a bit on her plate and toyed with the morsel. 

“All this food, but with everyone here-” an elegant gesture of her hand took in the breadth of the room, people at their tables, everyone as sleek as otters. The women elegant and greyhound lean, their wardrobes designed to show off their bodies in designer dresses specially commissioned for this event. 

The men, in varying stages of black tie, covered up, true, but still trim. 

“It crazy, man,” Lewis agreed, because he too was back in training, and it made no sense to have your macros out of whack for this one night - especially since he’d spent his vacation eating what he wanted. In moderation, but still, he was back to the strict diet, and exercise. 

“ _Hmm_ ,” Adriana moved closer. In whispered tones, she instructed him to smile, with her primary profession she had a sixth sense for knowing these things. Like... when she was going to be papped. 

“Smile, Lewis,” and it was amazing how she threw her voice, like a ventriloquist, her lips closed and in a faint smirk. Chin cradled in her hand, the position maximizing the view of her watch to its full potential. 

The eyebrows raised, the expression on her face slyly amused. 

Lewis might not have been a model by trade, but he was no slouch either. 

Leaning incrementally into her space, fist loosely clasped against his chest, his gifted watch catching the light, but not enough for a glare. Knew he’d hit the mark when the photographer aimed and shot with a relieved smile, not needing to prompt them to do anything, because they’d already done _everything_

**same venue: six hours ago**

Once a year, for one week only, select watchmakers were invited to this part of Geneva to show their wares. 

On google maps, Palexpo in Geneva seemed _ho-hum_ , a blocky outline of various buildings, seemingly at the end of train lines and a small private airport. 

In real life, Palexpo stunned. 

The smart architecture of strict lines, softened by semicircular details, its sternness broken up by glass facades at key areas which let the light in. 

The handsome face of the building opening up to you, once you left your coat at the concierge and shown inside, the expanse of floor and retailers filling the floor with their wares and displays. The way how the floor was arranged, it came off as if someone tried to describe to an insular high end designer who moved in extreme wealth- but hadn’t travelled the world- the concept of a _souk_ , only for the designer to get it wrong. 

Tasteful to the point of exquisite, but wrong. 

Instead of the clash of colours, restrained harmony. Walls of warm cream, the light bright enough to glow, but not harsh. Many vendors, true, but instead of one stall seemingly tumbling into another, they were spaced out. 

The backdrop of their stalls ranged from over sized glossy photos of their watches, occasionally with an enlarged specific detail, from wristband to face. The name of the vendors the backdrop to their spaces. Their representatives standing at attention, clad in swathes of black and grey. 

The individual spaces - that’s where the imagination ran wild, with _concepts_. This year, the theme was _astronomy_.

There, to one side, a historic house (not his sponsor) presented their new line of maritime watches, their backdrop a model of a ship with sails beached on faux white sand, leaning against an anchor

The texture of the floor underneath causing their guests to hop and tiptoe as if they were walking on sand, the faint noise and gust of sea air rigged up somewhere, tickling your faces with its fresh breeze as you strolled by. 

The watches arranged haphazardly against the weathered and blistered surface of the ship’s hull, like barnacles from the sea. If barnacles were carved from individual pieces of platinum with diamonds set into their intensely blue lapis lazuli faces just so, with markings of the globe and a nod to sextons and sundials, sure. 

Lewis wandered through the hall- if the expanse of this could be called a hall. A multi-hold hangar, more like, the grid of lights above washing the show-floor with light. 

The SIHH was a trade only event, open for a week to specially invited parties. Unavoidable, and unwelcome, a memory and Nico’s voice came unbidden to his mind; the narrator in this hyper-rich surreal lifestyle Lewis had crashed into.

*** 

**SIHH 15 years ago**

“It’s a relatively young event, for sure, _The Salon International de la Haute Horlogerie,_ ” Nico explained all those years ago, threading his arm through Lewis’ as they wandered around the floor. 

Lewis a tag along - not that the Rosberg family treated him as such- but it was so hard to appear cool to fit in. He always stood out, a tawny skinned mixed race boy travelling with a white family of blondes, stunned by the easy way they moved through this world. Lewis being Lewis though, he tried to fit in. 

Tried to wear the experience of looking at and trying on watches that cost as much as a council house as lightly as Nico did. Coming from Stevenage, where the most you’d see watches would be in the shops in the high street, this was another world. 

The shop-floor as big as a paddock, it seemed, with bright lights and watches as far and extensive as the eye could see. 

Watches behind glass cases, buyers seated at various tables, as vendors carefully took the watches from their cases for their special customers, their hands covered by soft, white gloves as not to smear the watches with their finger prints. Watches that seemed more like jewellery than an actual functioning thing. Their faces studied with stones, leather straps as slinky as silk, and just as shiny. 

The names of these watches were new to him and very foreign. Instinctively, Lewis tugged at the end of his sleeve covering his serviceable Timex, feeling his face flush. 

Nico used his other hand to comb the shock of blonde hair away from his face as he continued with his spiel, “The traders are specially invited, to show off their examples of _haute horlogerie_ -”

“Sorry?”

“ _Haute horlogerie_ ” Nico repeated, turning his head away from Lewis, as he pointed to a stand in the distance. “Oh look, _Audemars Piguet_. Papa promised me a watch of my choice when I turn eighteen. I think that may be the one.”

“I thought your dad gave you an IWC?”

Nico rolled his eyes, showing Lewis again how much he didn’t know. “A collection isn’t only one watch, come on, let’s go.”

Lewis stood his ground, steeling himself against Nico’s tugging, and that was pretty hard, because with Nico, you had more fun going along with him than standing against him. But - 

“Erm... Nope, man. You’re going to have to explain that to me.”

“What?”

“You know... that ‘howt’ thing.”

“Oh,” Nico exclaimed in surprise, and frowned, his nose scrunching in thought. It was something Lewis envied, Nico’s ability to wear languages as easily as he wore his navy fine knit jumper and granite coloured chinos. Actually, one of many things, like the ease of how the foreign names tripped off his tongue, and how comfortable he seemed in all these social situations. 

“If you want to be literal, it just means the high art of watch matching, you know? It’s like--” Nico worried his lower lip in thought, a vertical line appearing between his brows. “Consider it F1 for watch making. It’s the art of manufacturing challenging complications, and making them look really nice! But instead of driving them, we get to wear them.”

“Ah.” When he put it that way, yeah, it made sense. 

“Yeah, _ah_ ,” Nico parroted, laughing at Lewis’s obscene hand gesture. When Lewis did it again, Nico grabbed at his free hand, tangling their fingers together. “Stop,” he chided, the scolding softened by his laugh, their shoulders pressed against each other. 

Lewis opened his mouth to say no, only to feel his cheeks heat when he found himself at the end of an icy stare from a vendor. “Sorry,” he mouthed, because save for the low hum of people going about their business, the place had the air of a gallery. A posh gallery, focused more on watches than books, but still...

Nico rolled his eyes, in an instant going from all knowing man about town, to the bratty teen that he could be. 

“Can we go to the _Audemars Piguet_ stand now?”

“Yeah, let’s.”

***

Audemars Piguet - like IWC Schaffhausen, Lewis’ sponsor - still had a booth all these years later.

Not that Lewis had any truck with Piguet - not even through Nico. 

In the end Nico’s dad gifted him another watch - still an IWC- and as Nico’s stock rose, his link with the brand strengthened. Lewis, given his association with Mercedes as well as his own stock rising, he too had folded his name into the brand. 

A perk of being associated with IWC was the opportunity to come to places like this, to see the year’s novelties collection before everyone else. IWC had gone all out this time, their theme for the 2017 novelties collection featuring Da Vinci, and their reinterpretation of the same design visited a generation later. 

On top of that, they were the featured watchmaker for the SIHH this year. 

The way of these things called for socialising, but it wasn’t a party. 

Not as much as a private audience with the sponsors. The crowd not as cheek and jowl as it would be at the end of the week, when the public were allowed to walk through and gawk, so it was easy to catch sight of Nico and Vivian, blonde and beaming.

However, the crowd big enough for Lewis to avoid them both, because Nico, by dint of his surprise retirement acquired an air of mystery which only added to his celebrity. The audacity to win and walk away, in short time shock had faded away to universal admiration, and made their luster even brighter. 

Nico held court six deep, everyone elbowing and jostling to catch his eye. Nico’s nose a scrunch of amusement as he spoke to everyone in the languages they seemed comfortable in, although most people spoke excellent English. 

After a few long moments of staring at Nico and Vivian, Lewis dragged his gaze away, focusing on the IWC booth. 

The booth done in the style of an Italian palazzo, with a faux mosaic floor underfoot, showing the lunar phase; a sky of sapphire blue a background to the moon and the stars in gold. The watches displayed on seemingly floating shelves, in order not to distract from the beauty and expertise on show. 

It seemed silly, Lewis knew, and it’s something that he wouldn’t have told his nearest and dearest, but every time he got a new watch from his sponsor, it was a sharp touchstone of _before_ .

Before he became _Lewis Hamilton_ with all the money, trappings that came with it. 

“Ah, here,” the soothing notes of Daniella Arita, her hands cool and soft as she fastened the clasp, the watch cool and heavy and snug on his wrist. Her fingers fluttered around, sliding her pointer finger between the strap of the watch and Lewis’ wrist, making sure that she was satisfied with how it fit and sat on the wrist.

Again, Nico’s voice from over a decade ago bounded into his head space.

***

“You should never have an ill fitting watch,” Nico said, as they stood by the booth.

Not _Audemars Piguet_ anymore, but right back to _IWC Schaffhausen_. 

Nico, his hair white bright under the lights, charming the vendor in German, the words washing over Lewis like water over a rock. In the lilting stream of the language, Lewis had been able to pick out a few words like, _mein freund_ his name, _die Arm-_ and something something. 

“My watch is fine.”

Nico rubbed at his chin, keeping his fingers away from his spots. “I’m sure it is, but you just don’t want a fine watch, you want a _machine_.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Lewis slid his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I’m okay, thanks.”

The vendor, a guy who looked like a kindly headteacher with his silver hair and faded blue eyes, rather than someone who sold watches that was worth more than his dad’s salary, gave him a warm look over silver rimmed glasses. 

“You’re Lewis, yes? If Nico has told me correctly?” 

“Yes.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Hans.”

The years of manners prodded and poked into him by his parents, did the job Nico couldn’t. 

Instinctively, Lewis slipped his hand out of his pocket, and shook the vendor’s outstretched hand. He remembered too late that this hand was the hand he wore his cheap watch, his sleeve slipping down his wrist, his Timex just there. 

Not winking or catching the light, or having that neat kind of aged look that expensive watches had, like the one Nico wore on his wrist. Just a Timex watch, showing the tatty wear of age, especially along the velcroed strap. 

“Ah,” Hans said, still holding Lewis’ hand, gently tilting it to and fro as if he tried to get the watch in its best light. 

His face hot with embarrassment, Lewis wanted to melt into the ground, or disappear via teleportation. Sending Nico a tight lipped look of fury, he turned to Hans to apologize, but Hans let his hand go, and started to speak before Lewis could get a word in. 

“Timex, yes? It’s a good watch for children, but you’re leaving childhood behind, I think, yes? Would you like to try on some of our watches? We do have the new models if you’d like?”

“I-” Lewis’ mind went blank. “I-” he started again. 

“It’s not about cost, not really,” Hans gestured them into his booth, where the few novelty watches were displayed; a subject in each frame, the materials and fabrics and everything a dazzle under the lights, like jewels in a cave. “The first thing, and the most important thing, is about _appreciation_ for the craft. Don’t you agree, Nico?”

“For sure,” Nico replied, throwing an arm around Lewis’ shoulders, causing Lewis to raise his head to meet Nico’s gaze, finding himself the recipient of Nico’s smile; half teasing and half affectionate. 

That soft smile took the sting out of the ambush. Well, most of it. 

“One day,” Nico murmured, “you’re going to thank me for doing this. Taking you beyond Timex.”

“Probably,” Lewis rolled his eyes, embarrassment gone, because he knew he wasn’t going to be judged harshly. “But it takes a licking and keeps on ticking.”

Exasperated, Nico shook his head at Lewis before he turned to Hans. “Did you hear what he just said? Hans,” he wailed dramatically, “we have to save him.”

Hans must have been an amateur actor, Lewis mused, because Hans played up to Nico’s pleas and it didn’t come off as campy or try hard. “Quite, let’s see what we can do.”

***

“Beautiful,” Gabriella crooned, as she listed all the features of the watch. Not as a hard sell, but in a way of sharing what made the watch special and the features which delighted her from the magic hands of their watchmakers. The features ranging from the 40mm diameter to the exotic leather used for the strap (alligator), and how long it took to construct (thirty six months).

“I-” Lewis drew his hand away. Not knowing why, but it just felt too much. 

“Lewis,” Gabriella’s eyes widening a bit, “are you all right?”

“I’m a bit tired,” he shook his head, trying to clear the memories. “You know what it’s like.”

“Yes,” Gabriella nodded, her manner soothing, like balm on sunburned skin. “I’ll let you go.” The English expression sounded at odds with the hybrid of German and Japanese inflection in her voice, but that was the world he lived in now. 

“If you’re satisfied with everything, I can send the watch to your hotel via courier this evening?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

***

Normally, Lewis liked galas.

For one, he was away from the Nomex, or wearing uniforms, and he ran with it. 

No sedate black tie, because you didn’t have to be boring to look smart, not when a grey cashmere turtleneck and a patterned jacket would do. Galas with IWC brought out people associated with the brand that he’d only known by name growing up, like Arsene Wenger, who was out and about and talking with a former Chelsea player whose name escaped Lewis right now. 

The second great thing about Galas, was the music. As in, when they went out to get interesting musical talent, like this Danish singer Moe, her voice and lyrics striding through the synth beats of electro pop. 

But even with that, Lewis still felt unsettled. An uneasy itch of skin- something settling and tightening around him making him uncomfortable -like a jacket with tight sleeves. 

He continued moving through the crowd. Part reunion, reacquainting himself with the influencers who joined the IWC family last year. Also part welcoming of new faces to the family; like Bollywood actress Sonam Kapoor, a lively, lovely woman who wore the honour of being IWC’s new face lightly. 

“It’s an honour and a pleasure,” she greeted, pressing her hand against her chest and bowing her head briefly. 

“Same,” Lewis repeated the gesture. “I do hope that we won’t have to wait for another ‘Novelties’ event to see each other again. You should come to one of our races sometime. Maybe?”

“Maybe,” Sonam flashed him a smile, and it only made her face lovelier. He wasn’t on the prowl, but that didn’t stop a man from appreciating. “Goodbye, Lewis.”

“Sonam.”

After Sonam drifted off in her outfit of layers and colour, Lewis continued to walk. Knowing that he couldn’t leave the Gala yet, nor could he avoid --- 

Might as well hang for a sheep as a lamb, like his grandmother used to say. 

He couldn’t avoid Nico. Although he tried today, only to have teenage Nico living in his head, scolding him about watches. 

Lewis’ eyes drawn to Nico and Vivian, who were standing and speaking to each other in the corner of the room. Vivian’s hair unbound, a tussle of honey and maple blonde waves streaming past her shoulders and back, stopping just past her bare shoulders. Her dress a deep grey floor length gown that showed off her slender figure nicely. 

Nico, well, Nico went for the boring - although he would have called it classic- black suit with bow tie. 

Nico and Vivian suited. A handsome pair, both blonde and golden and lean, with the warm sense of humour and acceptance of each other’s quirks that loving couples grew into over years. 

It shouldn’t have been a hardship to watch them, it never used to be. What with Vivian gesticulating, using her clutch as a prop, and Nico’s sly smile at his wife. Vivian - not that she was _shy_ \- as much as careful. In the world of F1, everything being a dervish of emotion and pushing at the edge, and over sized characters, Vivian knew her role and played it well. 

Lewis paused, torn between going over now, or just stay here, teased by memories that he didn’t really want to entertain. In Nico’s post retirement, a lot of things became twisted. 

“Lewis.”

Vivian brought her hand up shoulder height and waved to catch his eye. When satisfied she’d caught his attention, she waved him over. 

“Where have you been hiding? I - I mean, we knew you were here,” she reached for his hand, squeezed it briefly before letting go. “We didn’t see you, although we were told you were here. You were like a -” she paused, biting her lip as she turned to Nico, her eyes wide with a question. “ _Geist?_ ”

“Ghost,” Nico corrected. In the last few weeks since they’d last seen each other, Nico seemed more relaxed, the stress lines around his eyes and mouth now minimal if not totally smoothed out. He seemed even younger, and lighter somehow. “Vivian is right. Where have you been? You were at the SIHH trade day today, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lewis answered. “I’ve been about. I had to fly in later than I wanted, but - I’m here.”

“And you didn’t say hi,” Vivian scolded in soft tones. After Nico’s retirement, there had been a rapprochement of sorts. Vivian being the one to pour oil over troubled waters by inviting him to dinner at their flat. A few murmured apologies that were good enough for that moment, but not now. 

Everything still tender in the aftermath, like new skin after the scabs fell off. 

Still tender enough for Lewis to stay away, and throw himself into activities that took him away from Monaco, to London - rainy and dreary London- counted as refuge. 

“You know what these things are like,” and weak, the excuse was weak. Especially when Lewis found himself taking advantage of Nico and Vivian’s good manners in terms of them not pushing the subject.

“Yes, with the testing and all of that. Bottas has signed, then?”

“Yeah,” Lewis shrugged his shoulders, “it won’t be the same without you there man, but, you know.”

“I know,” Nico wrapped his arm around Vivian’s waist, and drew her against him. Not like a shield - that would be unfair- but like a cloak of comfort. “Bottas is a good guy, he’ll keep you on your toes.”

Before this got any more awkward, a photographer drifted towards them, and they knew the drill. Vivian stood between them, their smiles strained polite. Lewis knew it would be a good picture anyway, Nico and Vivian suited their own way, like he and Nico had suited in another, years ago. 

After captured each and every way by flash, the photographer moved off. 

“You can never get used to this,” Vivian rubbed at her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “The flash.”

“You try, or wear dark glasses at night. Anyway, I have to go. Viv-” Lewis leaned in, brushed his lips against her cheek, European style. “Have a great trip back.”

“We’ll see you soon, yes?” Vivian’s hand against his cheek, her palm soft and warm, as they broke apart, her eyes hugely hazel and imploring. “You don’t have to be a stranger.”

“I’m your neighbour, remember?” Lewis ignored the implied plea, decided to play dumb. “I’m sure we’ll see each other soon. Anyway, Nico, it’s been great seeing you.”

“You too,” Nico responded, his tone neutral, but Lewis would take that and run with it.

***

**Two weeks later**

Formula 1 testing didn’t start until March, but fitness wasn’t something that you could just... not think about until nearer to the time. 

Just like Formula 1 cars, the drivers’ bodies were machines, and exercise and diet were important tweaks you had to undertake everyday. 

Monaco was mild enough in January for an eight mile run to be _almost_ pleasant, the air warm enough for even breathing through Lewis’ balaclava. 

The views, Lewis had to admit, weren’t half bad. The expanse of ocean with the winter sun shimmering to his left, horizon relatively clear of yachts this time of year, and on his right, the glitzy casinos, closed at this time in the morning. 

Running, if done right, cleared your head for a bit. Lewis’ head wasn’t clear, not at the minute. Remembering the call he’d taken from his dad a couple of nights ago. 

He shouldn’t have answered, seeing the name and number flashing on the screen, but did.

“Dad,” he greeted, phone against his cheek, his other hand in slipped in the pocket of his joggers, looking at Lake Geneva from his hotel room. Outside sharply cold, with snow along its rocky banks. Inside, as cosy as the soft joggers and sponsor’s t-shirt he sported. “How are things?”

“Things are fine-” and his dad’s voice - sounding very distinct and English to Lewis’ ears, and when Lewis opened his mouth to speak, he suddenly became hyper aware of his own voice, the inflection mid-Atlantic and _foreign_. Their voices sounding as if they came from different countries, and given the distance between them now, it might have been. 

With his free hand, he rubbed along his chin, wondering how they’d gotten so _polite_ and the conversations between them so hard. 

“And you?”

“I’m alright,” Lewis nodded to no one else in the room. “I just finished this appearance at SIHH. It was okay, you know?”

After a few minutes of stilted conversation, his dad ended it, like he always did, because Lewis didn’t want to be the first to hang up, even after everything. 

“I’ll let you go, have a good night, okay?”

“Take care,” and Lewis closed his eyes at how awkwardly breezy it sounded. 

Wished he could take it back, and say something like, _“I wish we could go back to what it was like before.”_ Before Lewis stepped away, to be his own man and manage his own affairs. 

Or, _“It’s not so hard is it, that I want you to be just Dad again?”_ That question he didn’t ask, fearing the answer. 

The connection cut, and Lewis slipped his phone into his pocket, looked out the window his eyes following the sudden whirl of snow flurries. 

A blink, and Lewis now here, jogging towards his apartment building, wondering if life would be uncomplicated once more. Looked at his wrist, admiring the handsome lines of the new watch, and realised, it was still early. 

Early enough before the other tenants came down to use the pool... a swim it was, then.

***

“It almost destroyed him, you know?”

“And _bon giruno_ to you too, Vivian,” Lewis greeted, shaking his head, as he treaded water in the deep end of the pool. He’d swum to the point where he’d stopped counting laps, and worked on his butterfly stroke. 

Exercised to the point where his limbs felt heavy, his thoughts a dull hum at the base of his head. It was past time to turn and see what his chef had prepared for him to eat. 

Vivian stood by the edge of their communal pool, clad in snug jeans and a chunky jumper. Her hair bound in a low ponytail, wisps escaping from her sides, face scrubbed fresh of makeup. Unlike last night, with her eyes warmed at the sight of him, her face was as solemn as a Catholic schoolgirl in detention. 

“ _Bon giruno_ ,” Vivian returned the greeting like Lewis expected she would, taking the sting out of her attack. Both Nico and herself possessed beautiful manners, and polite to a fault. 

“And,” Lewis gripped the edge of the pool. With a kick of his legs and a pull of his arms, he twisted so that his rear caught the tiled edge of the pool, swung his legs out, clambered to his feet, making his way to the deckchair, the water streaming from his body. 

“Nico’s a big boy,” he shrugged into his robe, before turning around. He was not surprised to see Vivian nearby, her arms hugging her torso as if she were chilled, but Monaco boasted a relatively balmy ten degrees C at this time of year. 

“He knew the rules, and -” Lewis titled his head as if in deep thought. “If I remember correctly, he won.”

“It wasn’t easy for him.”

“It’s not supposed to be, Viv. He’s enjoying his life after racing and -” Lewis reached over and grabbed for his spare towel and keys to his flat which were folded neatly on the deckchair. “I’m happy for him, there are no hard feelings. You’ve seen that.”

“Because you came by once and spoke to him after he retired.”

“Twice.”

“Stopping by the pool should not count, I do not think.”

“Some of us have to work.”

“You are not being fair.”

“You’d know.”

Vivian flinched and rubbed her cheek as if she’d been slapped. Immediately Lewis wished he could have taken the words back, or at least not say anything. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he found the keys to his flat there. 

“Vivian-” he trailed off, because there was nothing he could say that made it better, that would make them better. 

“I wish -” she rubbed at her eyes, her lashes sandy blonde because she forgot to wear her usual dark mascara today, he noticed. “I wish you’d accept his decision.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s made it, and he’s happy with it. That’s all that matters in the end, or at least, should do.”

A sigh at this, Vivian pressing her fingers against her eyes for a brief moment, sunlight hitting her wedding ring. It must be nice, Lewis thought, having someone in your corner fighting for your well being all the time. 

“You know Nico’s new role, and... It’s important to him. To me. Lewis--” 

Lewis folded his arms, ready to steel himself against her pleas. Found himself shocked into laughter when she squared up to him and finished with, “Don’t be an asshole for once, okay?”

“God, Viv,” Lewis laughed, and for a brief moment, they were fine again. 

“Just try, please?” Vivian pressed her hands together, fingers resting against her lips as if in prayer. 

Wanting the moment to stretch a little longer, Lewis found himself softening, nodding. “I’ll try.”

***

**The Royal Horseguards Hotel, The Strand, England**

Three weeks later and Lewis now back in England, a week before testing began. Everything felt different this year, down to the change of venue. This was a twist, an F1 meeting in London before everyone flew out to Catalunya. 

The F1 drivers and various members of the press were invited to The Royal Horseguards , to meet the new owners of the franchise. 

It felt like the first day of school, with everyone turning up, since it would be a weekend of getting acquainted with each other, as well as seeing what ideas the new owners had to offer. 

With the new F1 rules and getting to grips with his new teammate, the promise he made to Vivian now pushed to the back of Lewis’ mind. Liberty, the new owners of F1, were already coming in and implementing changes. 

“I’d ask you how was your holiday,” Toto Wolff greeted Lewis with a handshake and a grin, “but Susie has been giving me assurances that you’ve had a good one.”

Susie, the world knew, was pregnant, and given her age and condition, it was decided that she had to take it easy. A big part of that remit seemed to be following Lewis’ exploits via the paparazzi, fashion shows at Balmain, Dior (Maria Grazia Chiuri was already creating miracles at that house, awesome) and Valentino and teasing him about his wardrobe via SMS. 

“It’s been a good one,” Lewis smiled at nothing in particular. 

“Ah, Valterri is around... somewhere,” Toto frowned, looking around the foyer. 

Everyone drifting into the magnificent hall, with sturdy columns, walking across the shiny expanse of marble floor. People meeting each other with handshakes, or depending on how close they were, air kisses and bear hugs. Given the time (around 18:00 hours) and the bone deep elegance of the French chateau transplanted in London, everyone had to adhere to the smart dress code required. 

Even Lewis, with his appetite for daring fashion choices, toed the line in a button-down top and slacks with dress shoes. For the sake of Toto and peace, kept it minimally disruptive by dressing in black. 

Not flirting with the anarchy of Vetements, nor the outright whimsy of Gucci under Alessandro Michele. 

Somehow in the back of his very deep wardrobe, he managed to find a plain black shirt by Haider Ackermann. Okay, the seams were sewn inside out, and lightly distressed. The black and coral buttons stood out against the inky black silk of the shirt, but the spirit of the law came through, if not the letter. The trousers by Yohji Yamamoto skirted the right side of the law with their silhouette, just barely. 

Toto, on the other hand, didn’t believe in the spirit of the law, as much as the letter of it. He turned out looking extremely smart, he even tamed the shock of his hair into lying down, and away from his face. 

“I’m sure we’ll bump into other, sooner or later. It’s okay, honest.”

Toto lifted an eyebrow, and Lewis found himself at the end of a long and considering look. 

“I don’t need to tell you to... play nice this year, do I?”

Lewis’ hackles went up, but he kept his game face on. “I want my fourth title, Toto.”

“Valtteri wants his first.”

“I won’t send him running for the hills if that’s what you think.”

Toto reached over and patted Lewis’ shoulder. Half understanding and half warning. Toto seemed to be an easy going guy - until you crossed the line. “The rules haven’t changed, you will be allowed to race, but...”

“Understood.”

Outside, towards the entrance of the hotel, Lewis grabbed a drink from a passing waiter and headed out to the sprawl of green space just outside the entrance . Everyone else still inside, because people were still arriving, still greeting each other. 

Toto wasn’t one for idle threats, and he didn’t even have to say Nico’s name to bring everything back.

***

A few days after Nico’s shock resignation, Lewis and Toto had met at the latter’s flat in Germany, to take stock of the fallout.

Lewis remembered the grim quiet, both of them seated at the kitchen table, drinking cups of strong, bitter coffee. The silence deep, the drip drip of the old fashioned continental percolator on the counter punctuating the muted air between them. 

Toto took another deep sip of his coffee, making a grimace of disgust that might have been tied to the strength of the coffee, rather than -

“Did you know?” Toto asked at last, shoulders hunched, sleeves rolled to his elbows, elbows on the table, the tips of his fingers holding the cup delicately, as if he were afraid of smashing it. 

Lewis understood and sympathised greatly with Toto’s unsaid frustration. Nico’s face a picture in his mind, his face wreathed in smiles as he did his Victory Tour and Swan Song simultaneously. 

For a German, Nico’s exit had been pretty dramatic. 

Lewis realised that he hadn’t answered the question. ”No,” he shook his head. “Noooo,” he repeated, dragging the last syllable out. At Toto’s raised eyebrows, Lewis laughed, short and bitter. “Honestly, we weren’t as close as we used to be.”

“You can be... a difficult character at times, Lewis.”

“No more than Nico,” Lewis shrugged his shoulders, his elbows on the table. 

Toto massaged his temples, half laughing. “To think... I thought your friendship might have protected you both. That was the hope, anyway.”

“It did,” Lewis sipped his now lukewarm coffee, staring at the smooth glass surface of the table. “For a time.”

“No matter, we will find another driver. Our product sells itself, at least. Do you have any one in mind? Or anyone you’re extremely against?”

“No,” Lewis shook his head. For all his feelings snaking around in his stomach right now, at least in this, he had clarity. “It really doesn’t matter.”

***

Shaking his head to dislodge the memories, Lewis finished off his glass of wine, and left the empty class on one of the tables discretely placed hither and yon on the stretch of green. Due to this part of town being what it was, it seemed untouched by the seamier side of London nightlife. Given that this was a private F1 event, portable lights were placed along the winding footpaths and on the stout branches of trees, giving the air of floating orbs of light.

With the old and twisting trees in bud, plus the pleasant chill of an early spring night, and benches dotted about the green like mushrooms after a rain, if Lewis had been a child again, he’d have called it magic.

Now, being an adult, he just recognised this as the art of events management and presentation. 

In the not too far distance, he heard the white noise of the Thames as it lapped at its banks. A soundtrack to the bustle of people going about their business. London, like most great cities never slept. Seven o’clock now, and the city, with its buildings and landmarks bejeweled in lights, along with snatches of noise, traffic and music was ready to party. 

Lewis looked out at the skyline, and although he wasn’t one to wish his life away, he was desperate for the season to start. 

“I hope you aren’t going to leave your glass there.”

Lewis closed his eyes against the oh too familiar voice. Counted to ten before he turned around.

“No, _mum_ ,” and it had been a running joke between them since they were teenagers, Lewis’ relaxed standards of cleaning to Nico’s hyper neatness. It had been easy to get under Nico’s skin that way. 

Nico’s mouth curved with amusement. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“You started it, about the glass and -” Lewis stopped, refusing to fall into their formerly easy rapport because, no. Faced with the supremely British conversation starters of weather and holidays, he deferred to the latter. “Did you enjoy your holiday?”

“Yes, thank you. I would ask about yours, but...” Nico didn’t even hide his grin. “Going by the papers, I can see you were having a good time.”

“I still can’t believe you retired.”

Nico gave a quick shrug of his shoulders. Like everyone else, he’d dressed smartly; dark jacket and shirt, but no tie. His hair sleek, his scruff still blonde, but looking silver in the various lights dotted around the garden. 

“Yeah, same. It’s weird, for sure. Like, I still eat and exercise the same, but --- this is me.”

“Hmm,” Lewis slipped his hands in his pocket and kept on walking. Half expecting Nico to hang behind and return to the hotel, but surprised when Nico caught up and fell into step beside him. 

“What do you think about the new guys? Wanting every F1 event to be a Super Bowl? I mean, it’s so _American_ , yes?”

“I think that’s your wheelhouse, Nico, not mine.”

“You use the term ‘wheelhouse’, Lewis. If that’s you saying that you don’t understand, or are not interested- I think you just gave the game away.”

“I’m just saying,” Lewis looked to the sky, but being in London, you weren’t assured of seeing stars, not with the wattage of lights about brightening the night sky. “You’re the roving ambassador, right? I’m just here to race.”

“You are on the cover of _Time_ , and people know you over there, although Vettel has won more trophies than you.”

“Only won one more trophy. Three more than you.”

Nico sighed, and Lewis turned his head to look at him, not surprised to find Nico taking in their surroundings, the green manicured lawn stretching into shadow. “Every time I think, I do miss you,” Nico said, “you really make me wonder why.”

Lewis slowed his stroll to a stop, and turned to face his companion. “You left -” he broke off, looking at Nico. It was a bitch, Lewis realised, that every single person he’d been close to in the past, there seemed to be some form of estrangement now. 

If not his dad, his long term ex girlfriend, and now Nico. 

It would be easier, he knew, to call it a day between them. To confine their friendship to history, behind glass like a trophy. To gaze on pictures of them from time to time, and wonder when the chasm got so big, to the point of insurmountable. 

Thought about it, the telephone conversations with his dad and where they were now. 

Thought about Nico, one of the few people who’d been a constant in his life until now, and yeah, Vivian was right, he could try not to be an asshole this one time.

“Nico,” Lewis touched his shoulder, and Nico turned to face him, his eyes a mossy green in this light, striking against the gold blonde of his eyelashes. “Listen, you did it, the racing, the competition. You _won_ and walked away under your own terms. I don’t think you need me to -” he tried to find the right word, and seized on it. “To _justify_ your decisions.”

“No,” Nico agreed easily, “but it would be great if you tried to be accepting of them, if not happy?”

“I’m happy that you won,” at Nico’s skeptical gaze, Lewis felt a bit ashamed. “I am!” he repeated, “I mean... now, that I’ve calmed down for a minute, and can accept that it’s less about me-” 

Nico laughed, his nose wrinkling in amusement. “Of course! It’s always about you, Lewis. I keep forgetting.”

“No,” Lewis shook his head, “it should have been about us at the end of it. About knocking it on the head, winning F1, you know? I never thought -” _and there you go, Lewis, making it about yourself again_. 

“Wait, man,” Lewis held his palm. “Hold up. Let me try this again.”

Nico raised his eyebrows, still skeptical. “Okay.”

“You’re right. At the end of the day, it was about us winning it, and you doing what you want at the end of it. I wanted one more try and you wanted Vivian at the end of it. It’s... right. You did the right thing, and if you’re happy about that,” Lewis turned his hands palms up, in a form of supplication. “I’m...” 

Making apologetic overtures were hard and clumsy, since Lewis had never given himself much practice. “I’m getting there as fast as I can. I can’t ask you to wait for me, but I’ll get there soon. I promise.”

Lewis expected the non answer that greeted his comment. 

The only response in this Spring night being the distant noise of the River Thames, the laughter and clink of glasses from their F1 colleagues inside. Making peace with the fact that the only time he’d have reasonable discussions with Nico would be in the memories that came to the fore at key stages of his life going forward. 

Like sponsorship shows, or events out of the paddock. 

Looking at his watch, Lewis tried to buy time as he scrabbled around for an excuse, or an out. 

“As long as you get there, I guess.”

 _Sorry, what?_ Lewis didn’t say it aloud, but something must have shown on his face, because Nico just gave a nonchalant shrug. 

They both looked towards their hotel, the windows lit with the bustle and glow of company.

“We should go back,” Lewis said after a minute. “Try and meet Bottas in a social setting for the cameras, or else Toto will throw a shit fit.”

“He’s a good driver, solid,” Nico prompted as they started the meandering path towards the hotel. “Toto has high hopes for him.”

“Yeah,” Lewis replied, “I’ll try not to break him, since Toto is his manager and all.”

“Toto is fair, he’ll let you race, and Valtteri is a relatively unknown quality. I’ll enjoy watching you race, now that I’m not your teammate anymore!”

“What do you-?”

“Lewis! Nico!”

They both looked at the entrance, seeing Tito there, waving at them to come this way, and hurry up, his movements projecting like semaphore flags. 

“One Minute,” Nico shouted, waved back. Toto got the message loud and clear, giving them a thumbs up before disappearing from the doorway. 

“I guess that’s our cue.”

“For sure,” Nico nodded, rocking back on his heels. 

Lewis caught the glint in Nico’s eye, looked at the distance from where they stood, to the entrance about a hundred metres away. 

“We’re wearing dress shoes, man,” Lewis harrumphed, because he’d just gotten around to wearing them. “Don’t even thi-”

“Loser sleeps outside!” Nico yelled, tearing off down the path, jacket flapping behind him. 

“Oh no, no, no!” Lewis sprinted after him, hot on his heels. It was one thing to be in a car which may or may not be reliable, and beyond his control, but by foot? Yeah, no, he wouldn’t be losing this race.

He kicked into stride, arms pumping, everything a blur but the entrance as finish line. Racing was racing, be it by foot or car. Almost blinkered in terms of where you wanted to go, and keeping Nico’s movements from the corner of his eye. His dress shoes weren’t the best, thin enough for him to feel every single bump against the balls of his feet. His clothes snug and restrictive in movement, the entrance way coming up quickly, and he half expected a checkered flag to be waving. 

Nico edged forward, and instinct, because in Lewis’ mind, any advantage suited, he grabbed at Nico’s jacket, fingers snagging on the side vent. With a yank, he brought down Nico, their momentum causing them to half roll on the grass. For a few seconds while they tumbled, it was black sky, green grass, dots of light. The world bumpy and jumbled, sharp points of pain where Nico’s knees and elbows hit his chest and stomach.

A sharp stop, and Lewis found himself on his back, Nico on top of him and heavy. The simple exertion enough for him to feel the hammering of Nico’s heart against his chest. 

“Ow!” Lewis hissed, as Nico shifted, pinching Lewis as he moved away. 

“You deserve it.”

“I can’t help it if your conditioning is for shit.”

Nico made an indignant huffing sound,“You cheat!” he laughed, as he got to his knees, Lewis still sprawled across the grass and ow, ow, ow, he might be getting too old for roughhousing.

“Did you see that?” Nico said in response to giggles from the entrance. Lewis looked, not surprised to see Vivian in the frame of the doorway, her hair loose, clad in a flowy dress with long sleeves, but showing enough leg to make it interesting. Vivian held her hands against her mouth for a few seconds, before allowing them to fall to her sides, as she skipped down the stairs in studded gold stilettos. 

“What’s this?” she asked, in the semi scolding tones she’d been perfecting while raising Alaia, but Lewis heard the amusement there. “What are you two do -? Nico!”

“His fault!” Nico wagged a finger in Lewis’ direction. 

“No, no,” Lewis sat up on the grass, his answer automatic. “He started it.”

Vivian came towards them, Nico already up and brushing the bits of grass off his suit jacket, and tugging his clothes into place. “You look fine,” Vivian brushed at his shoulders. “Toto was asking after both of you- I think they’ll be taking pictures soon. Valtteri and Emilia are here.”

Nico raked his fingers through his hair, and Vivian waved his concern away. “Your hair is fine.”

She then turned towards Lewis with outstretched arms. Lewis placed his hands in hers, and pulled himself up to his feet. Vivian gave him a look, half admonishment, half amusement, as she brushed at his shirt in quick, brisk strokes. 

“When I said, don’t be like an asshole, I didn’t mean you should go crazy,” she murmured. 

“Vivian -” 

Vivian frowned, and Lewis saw the question on her lips. “We’re alright,” Lewis answered before she even voiced it. “Or, at least, we will be,” and for the first time he actually believed it. 

“Good,” Vivian slipped her arm through Lewis’ own, and reached out to Nico, her smile brilliant as Nico took her hand in his. 

“Ready?” Nico asked them both, but really the question was for Lewis, they all knew. New teammate, new car, new owners, new season... but the aims were the same. 

“Yeah, man, I think so.”

Vivian though, had the best idea. “Let’s go!” She ordered with a toss of her head, her hair softly brushing against Lewis’ cheek. 

The smile Nico sent to her affectionate, he leaning over and brushed a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Yes, let’s,” he agreed, “before - to use Lewis’ saying - Toto throws a shit fit?”

“Yeah,” Lewis started walking, feeling the other two falling into step, Nico and himself adjusting their strides to accommodate Vivian’s. “You’d think that after last season, he’d be tired of throwing wobblies, but -”

 _It’s Toto_ the unspoken agreement. Sharing smiles and jokes among themselves, they walked through the entrance into the party. 

End

**Author's Note:**

>   * The fic takes place around the launch of ‘Da Vinci novelties’ from luxury Swiss watch manufacturer IWC Schaffhausen at the annual SIHH in Switzerland. Once a year, specially invited watch makers come together to show their wares to their buyers and associated press. This year is the first year that they've invited hoi polloi to come and have a butchers for tickets costing 70 euros each
>   * Someone’s made a watch out of Swiss cheese and it works!
>   * [Article (the S*n) with Lewis Hamilton and Adriana Lima. They are two faces for the brand](https://www.thesun.co.uk/sport/2642761/lewis-hamilton-parties-with-ex-f1-rival-nico-rosberg-with-supermodel-adriana-lima-at-new-watch-launch/)
>   * IWC Schaffhausen [Once a year for this show, the watch makers present their collections or 'novelties' to a theme. This year's them is astronomy](http://www.scmp.com/magazines/style/people-events/article/2063959/iwc-schaffhausen-celebrates-da-vinci-collection-star)
>   * The background to the event [if you want a butcher's](https://sihh.org/the-event/?lang=en)
>   * A bit of history of the event and the challenges facing it [an interesting read](https://www.ft.com/content/38963304-be35-11e6-8b45-b8b81dd5d080)
>   * An example of some of the watches offered: [The prices are eyewateringly expensive, but the craftsmanship is exquisite](https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2017-01-19/the-best-watches-from-sihh-2017)
>   * The Gala [I gotta say, finding information on this was pretty brief. ](http://www.iwc.com/en/news/veni-vidi-da-vinci-gala-guests-decipher-the-beauty-code/)
>   * Esquire middle east: what we learnt at SIHH [I found this video quite helpful! But then the Middle Eastern Market is where the market is. ](http://www.esquireme.com/content/19026-what-we-learnt-at-sihh-day-3)
>   * Introduction to the SIHH [the first in a video series. The high end watch business is shrouded in relative secrecy (it's not as accessible as say, finding articles about fashion), but the watch makers are trying to be less secretive, and more accessible without sacrificing their exclusivity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNY1af4yVG0)
>   * Bernie Ecclestone and why no one is sad to see him go [Eccelstone, after forty years has stepped away (or has been pushed away) from Formula 1.](http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/formula1/38721123) Under Ecclestone, F1 went from haphazard to the sleek sport that it is today. That being said, for the past five years, there's been loads of problems that the article goes into detail about. But basically, Eccelstone didn't believe in social media, and was deaf to the fact that teams and race grounds wanted to make money too, not just him. The new owners (American) are supposedly bringing in new measures. 
>   * Lewis Hamilton article: The Fastest man on wheels [ Lewis Hamilton is pretty divisive, and a man whom commands strong opinion. But Bernie Eccelstone liked him in that Hamilton is a throw back to the hyped glamour F1 was known for. Under Vettel and Rosberg, Eccelstone went on record saying that Rosberg was bad for business! In that he came, did his work, and went home. But since F1 is supposed to be cars, the men who drive them and the glamorous women on their arms. Hamilton pretty much has the outsized party life, and he's one for magazines and the rest of it. So it's strangely fitting that he gets a magazine cover on (UK) Time even though Nico Rosberg won the title](http://time.com/lewis-hamilton-formula-one/)
> 

> 
> If you have read this far - thank you! And I hope you found the facts interesting and informative!


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